


I’ll Follow You

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 15:50:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15122753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: Pratt and Rook spend a night comforting the other after surviving Jacob and his bunker.





	I’ll Follow You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFamousFireLadyM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFamousFireLadyM/gifts).



> Piece for @adreamingofguns/AFamousFireLadyM who requested: Hurt/comfort trans!m Rook/Pratt right after they get out of jacob's bunker with a side of porn.

Fire is rising, plumes of smoke pouring out of every entry point. It takes about half an hour before the scene gains an audience. Remaining Whitetails and locals are congregating near the scene, hollering and cheering. Staci Pratt watches a little further down the street. He still has the automatic rifle in hand, clutched tight against his chest. He’s blinking too fast, unsettled, and finger tapping a beat against the magazine.

A hand curls around his right elbow, gently pulling him out of his thoughts. He takes an audible intake of air, turning. Rook is there, looking far older and haggard than when he last saw him.  Brown hair is cut shorter, closer to the scalp, and skin is more drawn, the softness of their cheekbones gone from living both in the surrealistic environment of Hope County and Jacob Seed’s story.

Rook makes a gesture with his eyes to the aged SUV parked alongside the road. Pratt nods, soon watching from the side mirror the fire and smoke grow smaller. 

The distance makes him feel queasy, rolling down the window. He keeps his head partially out of the car until they roll into Fall’s End an hour later. 

It must be something Rook said. Was there a heads up? Pratt can’t say, but the folks in the Spread Eagle have the decency to give them a quiet salute with their beer bottles, letting them shuffle their way upstairs in peace. Rook is saying something about a shower, but Pratt isn’t quite listening. 

“Staci.”

His eyebrows rise and he turns to Rook. Rook has a patient look on his face. He must have been calling him for a while. 

“You can put the gun down. You don’t need it anymore,” Rook is repeating. Pratt wants to laugh. He, instead, swallows it down and gingerly lays it down on a desk. He stands next to it, waiting. 

Rook looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Pratt can feel his chin starting to wobble and he doesn’t know why. He presses his tongue against his teeth and turns away from Rook, forcing himself to look away. 

“There is a bathroom right behind you. Clean towels. I’ll find you clean clothes,” Rook, finally, speaks. Pratt nods, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. He makes his way to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. There’s a fairly decent shower on the far right side and cluttered with half-used shampoo and conditioner bottles. 

Pratt dares a glance in the mirror. He looks rough, the bruise on his nose still an angry purple. His hair looks greasy, stubble creeping everywhere, and…he can’t quite recognize himself. An ugly swell of pride creeps in the back, that familiar voice praising — _Good. Because you’re no longer weak. No more useless fat on your bones. No more dulled teeth and eyes. No more time wasted primping and vain cosmetics —_

Staci stops himself when he realizes he’s mumbling the words out loud. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose and turns away. He focuses on turning the shower on, purposely making it cold. He slowly undresses and stands under the cold spray of the water. Just stands there, looking at the plastic wall before him. It feels deserved. He lets his thoughts drift into nothingness — a long, drawn out static of nothing. 

Someone softly knocks. He doesn’t respond. 

The door opens and Pratt knows it’s Rook. He can see the lean shape of the younger deputy through the shower curtain. The door clicks softly behind him. Rook only says his name as warning before he’s peeking through the curtain. He’s not quite looking at Pratt, but more at the knobs. He complains at the cold water dripping from the faucet below, easily guessing the spray of water from the shower head is equally as unforgiving. He reaches for one of the knobs and, slowly, the water warms up.

Rook’s hand disappears. 

When the shower curtain moves, again, Rook is there, completely undressed. Pratt’s too tired to be bothered by their shared nudity. 

Rook steps behind Pratt, a calloused hand reaffirming his presence by laying on his forearm. A hiccup leaves Pratt, chin beginning to wobble again. Pratt doesn’t know why _that_ is what makes him weak in the knees, shoulders shuddering. A noiseless sob wracks through his body, save for the sharp, wet intakes of air. Exhaustion sits heavy on his frame, forcing him to lean back into the shower wall. 

“He’s gone…” Pratt manages to relay, voice cracked. Pratt swims in humiliation over how grief-stricken his words sound. He can feel himself begin to panic, concerned the younger deputy might think he’s mourning the loss of Jacob — _aren’t you, Peaches?_ — Pratt scrunches his eyes together and scratches at the side of his skull. No, he’s not. He’s not. He’s not. He’s not.

Rook’s hand leaves the spot it settled on Staci and, instead, moves to grab Pratt’s scratching hand. He eases the hand down, pushing his fingers through his. Pratt doesn’t resist. His body only sags. 

Rook pulls him, pulls him closer so Pratt’s finally looking at him. “ _You’re_ not gone, _Staci Pratt,_ ” Rook returns, enunciating his name. Pratt gives a nod, vision blurry.

Pratt leans his head against Rook’s, moving in closer so he’s practically leaning into the younger deputy. He stares down at the Rook through half lidded eyes, matching his even breathing.

“We should focus on washing up,” Rook reminds, softly. 

They clean the other in silence, taking turns. Staci feels significantly lighter after his hair is thoroughly cleaned, smelling like something fruity. He should be shy or embarrassed to have Rook rubbing cheap soap into his skin, but he’s not. He’s just relieved to feel friendly hands against his back, digging and undoing every stressed knot and ache he’s been carrying. He returns the favor, but only to find his hands hesitating…

John’s tattoo angrily shouts itself to the world, purposely too large and tattoo needle having dug in too deep into the skin. The skin all around it is scarred by the misuse and Staci doubts there is any way of erasing this. There is scarred tissue a few inches south of the tattoo, older and faint across his torso. Everything else are scars from scratches, bites, grazed bullets, and bullets that made impact. There are parts of Rook that…remind him of Jacob. Raw, liquified Bliss must have spilled out and splashed on raw skin, leaving burn marks on one side of Rook’s ankle and leg. 

Pratt takes care around those areas, quietly awestruck and envious. Rook is strong. He can understand the fascination all of Hope County and the Seeds have with the young deputy. Rook is all grit and impossible. 

The two leave the shower when the water turns cold. Pratt follows Rook out, finding a clean set of borrowed clothes on a pull out couch. The couch is already made up into a bed and the idea of sleeping in an actual bed has exhaustion creeping back in.  

Rook only puts on a loose shirt and pair of boxer briefs. Pratt mirrors Rook, finding it strange to be wearing something other than his uniform. It feels strangely off center and he doesn’t hesitate to crawl into the pull out to get rid of that sensation. The sheets smell relatively clean, if not dusty. He doesn’t care. 

Downstairs he can hear music being played, muffled and faraway. 

“Can I keep you company?” Rook asks. Pratt responds with a desperate _‘yes’_. 

Rook joins him, sliding in, the lights in the room still on. Eventually Rook turns to his side, propping his head up with a hand. Pratt turns on his side, keeping his head buried in the pillow.

“You think we’ll get a raise after this?” Rook inquires, lips pulled into a tired, but big grin. 

Pratt rolls his eyes, chuckling, “That and overtime.” Somewhere between his chuckling, he reaches out under the sheets and fishes for Rook’s hand. The moment he finds it, his chuckle fades into a sloppy, grateful kiss on Rook’s cheek. He leans back, head thudding back into his pillow along with his heart.

“Thank you, Rook. You saved my ass,” he mumbles. 

Rook gives a curious frown, head tilting a bit. “More like you saved mine,” he returns, squeezing Staci’s hand. “If you didn’t haul me out of Dodge…I’d…things would be different.” Pratt must have given a doubtful look, because Rook is poking at him with their intertwined hand. “I’m serious. Thank you. I wasn’t strong enough to break through that…stupid song. You were,” Rook admits, quietly.

Something is tugging at him from the back of his skull. Giving a knowing _‘seeee?’_ Pratt tries to silence it by closing his eyes.

Rook is the one who silences it completely by returning the kiss, leaning down from his perch to press his mouth against his. It’s soft and simple. He kisses him back, smiling when Rook just plops his head against his on the pillow. Staci wiggles his body closer, touch-starved, and basking in the comforting warmth radiating from the younger deputy. 

Rook untangles their hands, Pratt giving out a sound in dismay, to only find the hand cupping the underside of his jaw. He’s pulled into a deeper kiss and Staci sinks into it, groaning in encouragement. There is something safe about Rook that puts his mind in a comfortable fog. Jacob is so far away, somewhere unheard with the muffled music down below. 

They stay like this, legs thrown over the other, lazily exploring the other’s mouth. Pratt becomes a little drunk off of his own elation at the traded affection.

Pratt is the one to break away, first, his lips numb, tired, and body overly warm. His underwear feels too tight and restrictive, leaving him feeling flushed from the waist down. He can feel the sweat collecting in-between their tangled legs. He, poorly, attempts to kick the sheets off to give them air, managing to get them as far down as their thighs.

“You okay?” Rook asks.

Pratt nods.

“Want to stop?”

Pratt shakes his head, “Don’t wanna stop. Just am a bit tired.” 

Rook gives a nod and he’s the one who gratefully removes the sheets. He unwinds himself, Staci watching him with rapt attention as he crawls over Pratt. Pratt moves back on his back, feeling blood beat loudly in his ears. Rook is straddling his knees, laying a hand on his upper leg, with a questioning look. Pratt nods eagerly with permission. 

Rook peels off Staci’s underwear, shimming it down to his calves. His cock rests against bellybutton, already feeling precum dribble out. Rook gives an appreciative rub of Staci’s thigh, earning a small smile from Staci. 

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just going to grab something,” Rook informs, waiting for Pratt to nod before slipping off the bed. Pratt watches the best he can, head cocked on the pillow, taking the opportunity to completely kick off his underwear. Rook is rummaging through his pack, pulling something out before returning back. A small plastic bottle is revealed, Pratt spreading his legs further apart in anticipation.

Rook squeezes the bottle’s content in his hand before curling the hand around Staci’s cock. The moan is instantaneous and loud, uncaring of the coolness of the liquid nipping at his skin. The younger deputy alternates between dragging the flat of his palm over the top of his cock to tracing the ridges just underneath the head with his thumb. It leaves Pratt breathless and eager, making encouraging noises. 

Eventually his hand creates a good grip around Pratt’s cock, just enough of a presence and pressure to have his nerves singing. He strokes him lackadaisically, hand slow on the draw. It’s a torturously slow push towards the edge, Pratt rocking his hips into the movement. Rook twists his hand just so near the tip, a wet squelching noise leaving Rook’s soaked hand, that has Pratt groaning out his name. Precum is leaking heavily, the tip of his cock a deep shade of red. 

As much as he wants more, he wants Rook. He wants Rook to feel the same — to share his appreciation. His hands leave his sides and he’s tugging on Rook’s wrist to stop. His other hand makes a grab at the edge of Rook’s underwear, “Come on, please. I owe you.”

Rook shakes his head, “You don’t owe me.”

Staci clarifies, trying again, “I want to do this if you want to.”

Rook stays put, quiet and considering. Standing up on the pull out, teetering a bit, Rook slowly pulls down his underwear. It gets tossed somewhere on the pull out and he eases back onto his knees. 

Staci is grabbing at Rook’s knee, urging him up. The younger deputy moves up towards his waist, but Staci is, still, urging him further up. Now that makes Rook’s eyes widen, surprised as he’s directed to hover over Staci’s mouth. 

Pratt doesn’t waste time, he pulls Rook further down, and presses his mouth into him. He kisses in-between Rook, earning an approving sigh from above. He’s already wet, Pratt dragging a tongue across, cleaning Rook with greedy strokes. His nose bumps and rubs against the younger deputy’s cock with each inquisitive swipe of the tongue. A hand slides into Pratt’s locks, twisting into his hair, holding his head in place. Rook rolls his hips, moving so he’s pushing his cock across Pratt’s glossed lips.

Pratt opens his mouth, wrapping his lips around Rook’s cock. He makes a pleased nose, hips taking a slower place. Pratt sucks lewdly and he can feel the muscles on Rook’s thighs, instantly, go tense. “Too much,” he’s suddenly hissing above him, hips retreating backward, “just your lips.” 

Staci gives a semblance of a sound in understanding. He tries again, Rook easing into his mouth, feeling him press and glide against his tongue. Rook relaxes, once more, eyes shuttering to a close. 

Rook is the one to guide Pratt’s free hand, pressing it back in-between him. Staci picks up on the cue, rubbing slow circles just somewhat inside Rook. He eases a finger in when it’s soaking wet, a low noise rumbling in his chest in commentary of  how tight Rook is around his finger. 

Pratt moves his mouth away from Rook’s, breathing out urgently, “I’m close.” 

Rook nods and pulls away, crawling back towards his waist. Pratt gives a broken sound at the sight alone, hand clutching at the bedsheets next to him. Rook adjusts himself and drags himself across Pratt’s cock, wetly humping the deputy. 

Pratt’s orgasm has him stuttering on a moan, his free hand digging into Rook’s left knee. He spills across his abdomen and shirt, Rook’s rocking pushing more out. Rook isn’t stopping. He’s still going, picking up the pace, his cock dragging against Pratt’s. The stimulation is beginning to become too much. Before he can shy away, Rook seizes on his cock, inhaling sharply, back at an arch. He goes still, breathing hard. 

“Holy shit, Rook,” Pratt whooshes out in praise, earning a tired smirk. The young deputy carefully swings a leg over Pratt and flops down on the bed next to him. They stay next to the other, panting in the warm air, listening the chatter and music a floor beneath them.

“You think it’d be too suspicious if they hear the shower running again?” Rook asks, after a drawn out moment of silence. 

“Rook…I’m pretty sure they heard us,” Pratt snorts, feeling Rook laugh and shrug next to him. Eventually Rook gets up and meanders towards the bathroom, beckoning him to follow. Pratt pushes through the exhaustion and forces himself up, embracing the warm, heavy feeling sitting in his gut. 

He follows Rook. 

Staci knows, no matter how it ends here in Hope County, that he’ll follow Rook anywhere. 

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
